


Immune to Its Effects

by Drakey



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Beloved Pets, Everybody Needs an Addiction, Mister Spock is Inherently Funny, Secrets, Vulcans Aren't Emotionless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakey/pseuds/Drakey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, Mister Spock was immune to the tribble's soothing presence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immune to Its Effects

The flat grey door retreated into the flat grey wall, and the Vulcan strode inside, composed and collected and impossible to ruffle. His angular features scanned the room once, with perfect efficiency, and he moved across the floor in exactly seven and one half measured steps to take a seat at his desk. He picked up a book and began to read. Commander Spock read for precisely one hour before he set down his book, stood, and walked to the low divider wall that separated his quarters into two sections. He pulled a small box from a perch on the wall. A soft crooning emerged from the wooden box as he opened it and drew out a little ball of fur. He glanced down at the second, smaller tribble in the box. Its presence, given his carefully measured feeding regimen, meant that his current tribble would die in exactly three days. He made a mental note to properly arrange for its disposal, then let out a sigh that lasted precisely one and one half second. Any longer would be too much. He closed the box and walked to his bunk, this time without counting the steps. 

The black and white tribble in Spock's hand crooned softly to him, and as he sat, he stroked it. He recalled the first time he had felt the small animals' effects, nearly a year earlier, when he first encountered them. The rest of the crew had laughed, believing that he was deceiving himself into believing he couldn't feel the creature's soothing, placating effect on his mind, but the truth was that he had had his first and, as yet, only epiphany. After the infestation was beamed to the Klingon battlecruiser, Spock had retrieved one lone tribble from K-7, and since then, he had gone through seven of them. Number eight was cooing softly in his hands, and number nine was waiting to replace its parent. 

Not that he called them that. Number seven had been named after an ancient Vulcan philosopher. Number eight...

"Greetings again, Epicurus," Spock said. "Again, the day has been... busy. I have had to defuse tensions between the Andorian ambassador and the chief engineer. The captain has also asked me to run a thorough analysis of our most recent encounter with the Romulan Star Empire. I am, as yet, unsure of why I am looking into Romulan encounters, but such unusual research requests generally precede times of heightened stress for the crew, the captain, and myself. Additionally, I experienced another unwelcome moment of remorse over the harm I caused to Captain Kirk during my pon farr. He has stated that he forgives me, but forgiveness does not eliminate remorse."

Epicurus trilled soothingly.

"I am aware of that," Spock said as though the tribble had made a coherent statement. "However, simple alleviation of the emotional response is... inadequate." He lay back on the bunk with the tribble perched on his chest, and he continued to speak to it, petting it and, very carefully, soothing it.

+----+

Six Months Later...

 

The destruction the Klingons had wrought with their surprise assault was impressive. Conduits had blown out all over the ship. Small fires had sprung up in crew quarters, and there were seventeen dead in sickbay, but Spock was nowhere to be found. His quarters were temporarily unusable, and he had been moved to guest quarters until repairs could be made. James Kirk was surprised, therefore, to find his friend and first officer sitting in his ruined quarters, against a wall, clutching a wooden box. The captain had seen it before, and occasionally wondered what was in it, but he had never asked, respecting Spock's privacy. Now, Spock looked up, and his human side was very evident in his tear-streaked face.

"Spock!" Kirk cried, and he came to lift his friend to his feet. Crew deaths never did this to the unshakeable science officer. "What's wrong?"

Spock gave one great, long sniffle. "They killed my tribbles."


End file.
